The Last Conquest of a Dead Man

For this piece I was originally inspired by exaggeration, as the first few lines my show, but then I just wrote, and it turned into something different.

A look, a glance, that

Quickly becomes a stare That lasts until A step toward And a smile Works its way out From under the depths of a brooding soul A solemn man, a sailor Never to return, a last night on shore And a final conquest.

To know one is the last Is a privilege A notch on a belt A bead on a bracelet A mile long And yet, if one was not the last But the first of many Would one feel the same As this single organ in a man's last attempt to be free?

One should like to think this true But could never, not of a true contender.